


Your Eyes are Full of Language

by ariannenymerosmartell (somethingmoo)



Series: The Connington Series [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, R plus L equals J
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-02
Updated: 2014-08-02
Packaged: 2018-02-11 11:51:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2067117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somethingmoo/pseuds/ariannenymerosmartell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was meant to be an exploration of the ultimate crack!ship, JonJon. Yeah. I know.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Your Eyes are Full of Language

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crossingwinter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crossingwinter/gifts).



> This was meant to be an exploration of the ultimate crack!ship, JonJon. Yeah. I know.

"He is growing to look much like his father," Lemore says softly one night after Aegon has gone off to bed— or, more accurately, has slunk off to the kitchens to get a skin of wine. "He could be Rhaegar come again."

There is some truth in her words. The boy certainly resembles Rhaegar: all long limbs, tall and lithe. His hair, washed free of the dye, is long and the palest silver gold. But his eyes…

“His eyes are not like Rhaegar’s,” Jon says firmly, ignoring the look Lemore gives him.

“His eyes are purple. Her certainly did not get those from Elia,” Lemore says, amused.

Jon shakes his head. “His eyes are a lighter purple than Rhaegar’s. More like his grandmother, Queen Rhaella’s, I suppose.”

“They are Targaryen eyes, Jon,” Lemore says, rolling her own. “They are Rhaegar’s eyes.”

Jon knows there is no use arguing. Lemore is merely remarking on their color, and yes: Jon knows there is no denying that the lilac eyes come from the boy’s Targaryen father, from Rhaegar, but Aegon’s eyes lack… something.

Jon could never put into words what it was that made Rhaegar’s eyes so mesmerizing. His amethyst eyes were remarkable on their own, but something about the emotion behind them… sorrow, and melancholy, intelligence, and strength… Rhaegar’s eyes could bore into your soul.

 _Mayhaps it is because Aegon is young yet_ , he thinks to himself. _Mayhaps it is because I will always love the father more, because I failed him_.

With a silent prayer to the gods that he will not fail the son, Jon heads to bed.

~~~

When he awakes in the morning, it is to the sounds of Haldon banging on his door. “Lord Connington,” he is shouting. “It is important.”

He slips his gloves on and lets the man in, worry boiling in his stomach. _Don’t let it be Aegon_ , he thinks, wishes, prays. _Let the boy be safe_.

But Haldon’s letter is about the Wall, about dead things walking, killing, encroaching. And Jon knows, he knows, this is what Rhaegar had meant when he talked about the Prince Who Was Promised, the savior of the realm.

“Fetch Aegon, quickly, Haldon,” he says, but the boy appears at the doorway, and Jon thinks that he must be feeling his calling, his father’s legacy surging through him.

“We must go North immediately, Your Grace,” he says. “A great danger threatens your kingdom.”

Aegon gazes at him, confusion etched across his features.

“It is not my kingdom until I have won the throne,” he says simply. “We need to get to King’s Landing.”

“No, Your Grace,” Jon says firmly. “The throne will be yours once you have vanquished these foes.”

At the boys skeptical face, Jon feels his resolve harden.

“This is what your father believed you were born for,” he says bluntly. “The Prince Who Was Promised. Only you can destroy these Others.”

“Others?” Aegon blurts out, laughing. “Surely you jest. Others are things of children’s tales. Granted terrifying children’s tales but—”

“He does not jest, Your Grace,” Haldon says quietly. “They are very real, and a very real threat to the realm. I cannot confirm so far south, but there are rumors that the Wall has fallen.”

“The Wall?” Jon asks incredulously. “How can the Wall have fallen?”

“These are dark times, my Lord,” Haldon says. And then, “Your Grace, we must go North.”

“It is a journey that will take over a moon’s turn!” Aegon exclaims, close to whining now. “Do you really believe this, Jon?” He asks, lilac eyes wide and unsure.

 _Rhaegar would not have been unsure_ , Jon thinks bitterly, but steps forward and places his gloved hands on his foster son’s shoulders.

“We must, Aegon. It is your destiny.”

~~  
The journey North sees Aegon by turns angry and sullen, upset to be locked away and hidden in the belly of a ship again, angry that they still have not claimed his throne.

Jon prays that he will soon see that this is the right path, the path he must needs take to be the true King of Westeros. The path his father knew was paved for him. But Aegon spends little time with him these days, and the continued stiffening of Jon’s fingers does not make him want to seek the boy out.

In fact, the further North they get, the more his fingers seem to stiffen, though the infection, he notes, has not spread. He thinks it might mean something, but he does not know what.

"There is fell magic in the air," Haldon notes to him one night, as they near what surely must be Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. Something is wrong."

"The Wall has fallen!" Jon exclaims, gripping side of the ship. They had noticed as they drew closer that the massive structure could no longer be seen, but even more disturbingly, they could see white bodies floating in the water, and one of the men swore one of the bodies had blinking bright blue eyes. Lemore had started weeping, for surely, surely, this meant ill for them and for the boy she had come to love as a son.

Only Jon believed. _This is what he was made for_.  
~~  
The disembark at a shell of a castle. There are no people, no men. The castle seems a shell, and further inspection shows that the thing has been burnt, scorch marks litter the walls.

"It’s a wonder it hasn’t collapsed," Aegon says, between chattering teeth. Despite being wrapped in layers of furs, he still feels the cold.

"I am the son of the dragon and the sun," Aegon had japed one rare night when he had been in good spirits. "The cold does not suit me."

But yours is the song of Ice and Fire, Jon had wanted to argue, but bit his tongue instead, not wanting to ruin the boy’s good mood.

But up here, Aegon’s discomfort is clear, and Jon discreetly orders Haldon to get him another fur, and another layer of boiled leather before they continue their trek.

He thinks to ride to Castle Black, but just a half- day into their journey, they are met by riders in black, men carrying torches and obsidian blades and looking at them as though they’ve gone mad.

"Who the hell are you," the first one asks, a tall, broad lad. Underneath his layers, Jon can see his hair is a shade of red.

"Lord Jon Connington, and His Grace, Aegon Targaryen, Sixth of his Name," Jon announces, pulling himself up to his full height.

"Dead men then," says the other one, morosely. "More dead men."

"We are not dead," Aegon responds hotly. "We have come to aid you in your war against the others. My army travels behind me. We came first to…"

"To see the Wall fallen and dead things in the water, aye," the morose one says. "I hope you found all you came for, but unless your army is armed with dragon glass, you’ll not be doing much aiding."

"Maybe they’ve got dragon glass, Edd!" The big one says excitedly. "Have you?" He asks, eyes fixed on Jon, and Jon has to shake his head.

"We are not— we did not—"

"Neither did we," the morose one, Edd, says. "We should get to cover. The longer we’re out, the more likely they are to come."

"We’re bringing them back?" the big one asks, tone of surprise in his voice.

"Of course, Grenn" Edd continues, as though they aren’t there. "If we leave them out here, there will just be more wights to try to murder us come nightfall. We’ll take ‘em to Lord Snow. He’ll explain better than we can."

They follow Edd and Grenn to what appears to be another run-down castle, on the verge of falling apart.

"Castle Black was invaded," Edd says mournfully. "Shame that. All our mutton was there. The only thing in this castle is turnips."

"They’re not bad," Grenn says. "When you’re starving, that is."

Jon grimaces, and Aegon glares at him, and Duck shakes his head in wonder. The other men from the Golden Company they have brought with them mutter in dissent.

"Take heart men," Jon says, to his people and to Edd and Grenn. "When the King vanquishes this foe, there shall be many great feasts to follow."

"That’s what the other King said," Edd says, sighing deeply. "And no one’s seen hide nor hair of him since he marched to Winterfell."

"He didn’t have much hair to begin with," Grenn says, and the two laugh, and Jon’s men begin muttering again.

"What King?" he asks, but Edd shakes his head. "Wait here. Lord Snow will meet with you."

They are left standing there, only briefly though, and when Edd and Grenn return Grenn ushers the men into the hall for ale and turnips presumably, and Aegon follows them, complaining of hunger, while Edd marches him to a small room.

"Lord Snow," he says to the young man, whose back is to them. The man has dark hair, and is tall, but his shoulders are hunched and even without seeing his face, Jon can tell that he is tired.

And then the boy turns around.

And Jon feels all the breath leave his body.

"You," he begins, but the young man holds a hand up.

"I am Jon Snow. Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, or what’s left of it," he says, bitterly.

"You’re a Stark," Jon breathes.

"The bastard son of Eddard Stark, aye," Snow says, weary. "And I hear that you are men returned from the dead. You’ll understand why that worries me, if you know anything of our enemy."

He gives him a grim smile, but the pure determination in Jon Snow’s steely grey eyes renders him speechless. There is no doubt that the boy is a Stark, but… the bastard son of Eddard Stark does not seem right, cannot be right. Not with those eyes.

His eyes are fixed on him now, steel grey and hard.

"Well, my lord," Snow says. "What do you know?"

 _That you are Rhaegar’s son_ , Jon thinks wonderingly, heart racing. _That you are a Prince, that your brother stands next to me. That you have Rhaegar’s eyes_.

Jon feels his heart pound in my chest and he walks forward and seizes Jon Snow’s hand, momentarily stunned by how cold his flesh is.

"I know nothing, Jon Snow," he says, which brings an odd look to the boy’s face. "But I will learn all I can to aid you in this fight."

Snow nods grimly, and his eyes, _gods his eyes_ , widen, just slightly in appreciation.

"Sit, then, my lord," Snow says. "We have much to discuss. Shall we sup here together?"

And Jon’s heart pounds in his chest as he nods, because staring back at him across the table are Rhaegar’s eyes, colored grey, and it feels like coming home at last.


End file.
